king caden

by Steven J. Serafiani

I knew a guy
Caden was his name
King Caden is what we called him
he would swoop into our local bars like a vulture
pick bones
fought in back alleys
fucked in back alleys
machismo to the enth
strut in like a peacock
pick a doll and strut in

King Caden knew the game
the confidence game
didn’t know how he made his money but he always had it
didn’t know where he laid his head but his head always rested
dapper, debonair and demonstrative
gregarious, gluttonous and gideon

King Caden, the man of the hour
we would talk briefly
about women
after fights
during booze
and always with a smoke
we were entrenched when his lips moved
entranced
hanging like meat in a butcher shop
he knew what to say
words were his hobby
his tongue a stamp collection
his eyes the sport
he would look you in the eyes yet his eyes would look to the brunette at the bar
drawn like butter

King Caden
the man we all wanted to be
the man we all despised
jealous mental renditions
envious fist clenches
he was a step ahead and we knew it
he knew it
so we’d drink to oblivion as he left with marked knuckles and a lovely mark